


Morning Run

by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Concordance AU, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sex, F/M, Impact Play, PWP, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 08:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/DarkAthena
Summary: In a world where Lydia is Peter's submissive he takes her running in the morning, but he has a way to make her concentrate.This is an entirely consensual relationship between adults, and as such features explored kinks and discussion of safe words and previous sexual encounters.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is a scene from an au i am playing with because there are little to no sex scenes in the regency bodice rippers - so i have to get it out of my system somehow
> 
> lydia is an exhibitionist and peter is a voyeur, it works for them

Peter had rules, mostly they were rules that Lydia was happy to follow, but the early mornings were not her favorite.

He had laid clothes out for her the night before. If they were leaving the house she was to dress from the right wardrobe, appropriately but anything she cared to, if they were staying in she was to dress from the left wardrobe in colors specified previously.

Days began at five am with a run.

Peter ran with her. There was a trail around the pond on his property, clearly worn down, and reasonably flat. It was protected from sight by the heavy trees and bushes which suited him.

For her work out Lydia was to wear a sports bra, socks, and her running shoes - and nothing else. Her hair was to be neatly plaited behind her back and she was to keep pace at least five steps ahead of Peter.

Lydia wasn't sure what they would do when the cold weather rolled in, perhaps Peter would invest in a treadmill but they started every day like this.

He was at the back door when she came down, still nervous in her nakedness around him. Her arms crossed across her breasts, although her sports bra covered them, and her sex waxed and exposed.

“Good morning, sweetheart," Peter said as he slipped a water bottle into the holster on his hip. “We're going to try something different today," he said.

“Clothes?” she asked.

He just laughed. He rarely had her completely naked around the house, he favored Jersey running shorts and vests, with comfortable underwear, with a bright hoodie and socks. He always insisted on her hair being neatly tied back but liked it down when they were outside the house.

“I have noticed that you have issues keeping pace," he told her, “so I thought of a new game.”

Beside the door, he had a switch, a thin length of willow branch and he swished it about, “every time you go too far ahead, or get too close, I’m going to spank you. I won't break the skin and when we come in I will treat it with lotion and because it's Saturday,” how quickly the week passed, “I will have no other demands on you for the entire day. How does that sound?”

She took a deep breath before she answered. “Yes, sir.”

Peter didn't insist on calling him sir but sometimes the word felt appropriate.

“If at any time it gets too much and you need a break what do you say?”

“Yellow.”

“Good girl," he nodded, “and if you need me to stop what do you say.”

“Red.” He always checked she knew her safe words, and there was never any repercussion for using them. He had, once, used them himself, and she had spent the evening spoiling him with the chocolates and lotion he kept for her aftercare.

“There’s my good girl.” He grinned at her. “Now run.”

 

Peter's kinks were simple. He liked the promise of nudity rather than nudity, and he liked stockings, preferring hold ups to suspenders. He liked dark colored underwear, teals, peacock blues, navy, and aubergine. He liked to watch her ass wobble whilst she ran. He liked to clamp her nipples and hang a bar between them, pouring oil into the cleft and fucking her breasts - which agitated the bar and pulled on both nipples until she felt like she could orgasm from it alone.

He rarely used impact play, but when he did it was because she had a preference and he wanted to oblige her. She had whims.

So at five every morning, before her shower and her breakfast, she ran through the woods, naked but for her shoes and a sports bra she had insisted on because her breasts ached if she ran without support.

The switch came down hard on the back of her thighs like a whip of fire causing her to yelp and jump a little. She was sure that her buttocks wobbled prettily and she felt it between her thighs like someone had pressed a finger there. “Concentrate," he said.

She had a tendency to lose herself in her own head when they ran, sometimes remembering how they had been in bed the previous night, or what they had done in the club they attended, for Peter had a taste for exhibitionism and she liked him watching her. Sometimes all they did was watch porn, she sat on his lap, sometimes, not always, with her warming his cock as he fingered her so sweetly.

A second line of fire crossed her buttocks. “Concentrate," he chided again.

She couldn't help how aroused she was.

She was outside in the slight autumn chill, almost entirely naked, her sex plumping and red lines forming across her skin where he switched her.

She wanted to drape herself across one of the fallen logs along the path and open herself up with her fingers, her ass up, and demand he mount her.

Another thwip noise and the pain bloomed across the crease of her thighs, just touching the swelling lips of her cunt. She made a noise, a sort of groan yelp.

“You like this, don’t you, pretty girl?” and Peter’s voice was like sex, “look at you," he was almost purring, “your thighs are shining, you’re so wet," he struck her with the switch again, “concentrate, keep pace,” she couldn't help the way she groaned.

Impact play was for special occasions. Peter never used it for punishment, and he never used something as specific as a switch. He had paddles, including a leather strop that was too heavy for Lydia and so they never used it in play.

“Concentrate," he chided with another flick of the switch.

How was she supposed to concentrate when her entire body was primed for sex. She was half breaking pace just so he would strike her and half because her mind was so addled. She had been a little nervous when she had started to run, feeling exposed and a little cold and now she was hoping the house would get closer so she could talk Peter into getting her off.

“Concentrate," she couldn't help the noise she made, a low throaty groan.

“Look at my pretty girl," his voice was throaty, “you'd do anything for me right now, wouldn't you?”

“Yes," she couldn't help the groan, “please, sir.” 

“Concentrate," this time the switch was across one buttock and not the other, “don't stop running.”

She stumbled and he caught her, helping her back to her feet but his hand ran across her stomach where he knew she was sensitive, and briefly over the lips of her sex before urging her to run again, and she sped up as soon as she saw the house through the trees.

Another five blows landed before she reached the house and she wanted more. She knew she could have stopped it if she had wanted to - but she hadn't wanted to. Because it was cold the burning of the strikes had made the skin feel hot and her sex was heavy and swollen and she could feel her slick almost running down her thighs with no hair to catch it.

She toed off the shoes at the door, and by the time she had reached the couch she had undone the zipper of her sports bra and was naked but for her trainer socks, she dropped into a low kneeling, the traditional submissive posture - seiza - to wait for her dominant, but all she wanted to do was put her hand between her thighs and bring herself to a quick orgasm.

Her entire body felt alive, her nipples hard and tight against her piercings, and her breasts feeling tender, she was so aroused. It was hard to breathe with it.

“My beautiful girl,” Peter said running his hand, cold from the run, down the knobs of her spine where she knelt. “Look at you, just sit like that for a moment, just exactly as you are.”

From a corner he pulled a standing mirror and placed it in front of her, “just look at you," he crouched behind her, still dressed from his run, “my beautiful girl, look at these," he cupped her breasts with his hands, “look at how tight your nipples are, I bet they ache don't they," and she groaned again, “I bet you want my mouth on them, warming them up, sucking on them the way you like, long hard pulls with soft suckles to ease them,”

“Peter," she moaned, “please.”

“Please what, pretty girl?” he thumbed one nipple almost absently, “there are so many things I could do, do you remember the time I came on you so much it was like you were wearing a shirt of my cum, shall we do that again?” her head fell back against him as he thumbed her breast and she watched him in the mirror, like it was someone else, and he was enjoying watching her, watching the way she pressed her thighs together and tried, and failed, to get some pressure on her aching, swollen clit, and he was hard behind her, she could feel it pressing against her butt, and the marks where he had switched her were blooming hot against him.

"Please," she managed, surprised she was able to get that word out, “please.”

“Please what?” he said, “I can't give you what you want unless you tell me, and you want to tell me, don't you, you want to tell me everything you want, and then to watch me do it, because you're my pretty girl, aren't you, all for me," he kissed her skin above her collar. “No one else gets to see you like this, just me, but tell me, tell me what you want to show me.”

His lips were against her ear, and she was his, naked but for his marks and his collar and she felt safe and wanted and even loved, she was so confident in her headspace.

“Your hands," she said, “please, sir, I want your hands." She parted her thighs, and his left hands, strong and slightly cold pushed down between the lips of her cunt and very softly began to stroke. “So good to me," she mumbled, trying to grind down into the fingers touching her, but he kept his fingertips light, “my sir, my good sir,” 

With his right hand he pulled her thighs apart, “my pretty, pretty girl, look at you," he was almost crooning, “so lovely for me," he pulled his left hand up and smeared her slick over his lips, and then hers, so her tongue flicked out to taste.

And in the mirror, she could see her own licentiousness, how slutty he made her and how it pleased him to do so.

“Remember Tokyo," he said, “how I held you up against the glass overlooking the city, one hand on your breast the other holding up your thigh so you remained open for my cock in your ass, do you remember?”

She groaned as he smiled, “and the whole city could have seen you, seen you open for me, bouncing on my cock, and all they had to do was look up.

“All of those bored businessmen in the office opposite the hotel, were they at their windows, hands in their pants as they watched you writhe on my cock.” He sucked the lobe of her ear into his mouth and gave it a quick nip of his teeth, “and do you think they wanted to be me or to be you?”

“Please, Peter," she said, thrusting her hips forward so he would touch her. In the mirror she could see the pink folds of her cunt, wet and glistening in the morning light, her clit swollen but he wasn't touching her.

“Do you want to go back to Tokyo? Is that what you want?” He was teasing her and she knew it and she was powerless against it. She knew she just had to say Red and he would stop but she didn't want him to stop, he knew how far to take her and she knew he would get her there. 

She just had to trust him.

"Please," she asked again, “can I have your fingers?”

“Since you asked so sweetly, pet.” He always used lots of endearments when they were sceneing, and it made her feel safe and cherished.

He slipped his arms under her thighs to lift her up so she could see, so her legs hung uselessly but she was open to his gaze and the mirror facing them.

He had arranged her so that he could dip the tip of her fingers of one hand into her cunt, smearing her wetness around but not deep enough to press inside, deep where she wanted him, and avoiding her clit with every touch, she knew what he was doing, the part of her mind that was still functioning small as it was, knew he was doing it to make the pleasure last longer, the best part of her was slipping into her submission, who would do anything he asked of her.

She was pink and open and his fingers were paler making the core of her obscene against it, and his fingertips were glistening, she was so wet, and she felt so open as her head lolled back against his, so he could suck her earlobe into his mouth, muttering about how gorgeous she was, how sexy and how beautiful. He muttered about the things he wanted to do to her, and how gorgeous she would be split open on his cock, did she want his cock, “tell me, Lydia, pretty girl, do you want my cock?”

She mewled. It was not the sort of noise she would normally admit, but she made a noise that only could be a mewl. “You have to tell me, sweetheart," he said, biting softly the fleshy lobes of her ear, “do you want it?”

“Please," she couldn’t control herself, she was soft and warm and it felt like she was floating in something viscous and warm and she was deep in her headspace and Peter always got her there, even when she wanted, she trusted him enough to get here there because he always did. 

“You have to say it, lovely," he said, and she could feel it, hot and hard and long against her spine, with his pants pushed down under his balls she could see them in the mirror, and the base of his cock. 

"Please, Peter," she said, “I want your cock, I want it, I want it in my ass.”

Peter’s reflection blinked, he hadn't expected that. “Not now, lovely" he said softly, “you're not prepped, but maybe later," he leaned forward, so she was resting on her hands and knees now, breasts swinging down and the weight of them pulling deliciously, put it around her throat to hold her head up, with his fingertips, still wet with her, slipped into her mouth. He lined his hips up, slipping his cock along the folds of her cunt a few times so it gathered some wetness, a feeling she loved, this softly blunt instrument forcing her open but never enough, slapping bluntly against her clit, and then pushed inside her as she groaned with it. “My lovely girl," he said, holding position, hunching over her, long and hard and hot inside her, and around her, and meeting her gaze in the mirror. “Look at you, taking me so good, being so good for me.” Lydia liked praise, deep in her headspace as she was she didn't think she looked strange, red-faced and sweating, her mouth open and her breasts swinging back and forth with one of his hands around her throat and the other holding her face up so she could see them. “Look at what you do to me, how sweet my girl is.” His face was as red as hers but his gaze was like flint, his tongue flickering out to lick his lips. “You’d let me do anything wouldn’t you, and look so lovely doing it, you'd be so fucking sweet.” 

With that he started to move his hips, slowly pushing in and pulling out fast over and over until she thought she’d lose her mind. He spread his knees to give himself more room to move, but he was losing control. She was making him lose control, and she was so close, she could feel her orgasm within her belly like a water balloon about ready to explode, but she couldn't, she had to stop it because he hadn't given her permission. She had promised him, but she was so close.

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he muttered into her ear and she exploded, gushing all over the floor as he muttered expletives, hips working back and forth erratically before he slammed his hips against hers hard enough he jerked her face away from his hands and came himself, staring at her in the mirror.

They stayed there for long minutes whilst he muttered endearments and placed sloppy kisses on the back of her neck.

He tugged the blanket from the couch, the jersey one with the fake fur lining and wrapped it about her shoulders before he pulled his cock, softening now, from her, and eased her down on to her side. “You are so good for me,” he said and reached to the table for the wet wipes he kept in the door, softly cleaning the evidence of their sex from her skin with soft slow strokes. Before tugging her up to sit on his lap on the couch, letting her breathe in the sweat on his neck, and feel the sharp burning marks on her legs. 

Peter made a point to over do it on the aftercare. He’d draw her a bath, probably when he regained feeling in his legs, but Lydia liked lying on him, arranging herself and the blanket so she was skin against skin. “Do you want to watch a movie?” he was pretty sure he could reach the tv remote where he was.

She made a noise of dissent, she didn’t want noise right now, sometimes she did, she was content to just nose against his ear and breathe, perhaps a little nap. “Anything you want, sweetheart," he said, stroking her thigh over and over, “you are my good girl.”

And Lydia let herself sleep, secure on the lap of a dominant that cared for her


End file.
